As To Whether The Gavle Goat's Consumption Should Be Seen As A Good Omen Or A Bad Omen, I'd Say Good.

The young mage whimpered in my arms when the first soldier passed by our hiding spot. It had been awhile and I'd have to be careful not to overdo it.

Taking a calming breath, I pulled her closer to me and pulled the light from the area, bathing our spot in shadow.

A few men stopped and started going over the area. The metal in their shoes and legs were deafeningly loud.

I tugged the mage closer to me still. I could feel her erratic heartbeat as we waited for our fate.

They had moved to another section of the surrounding wooded area before they were suddenly called back to where they came from.

When they were gone, I allowed the mage to go.

"What caused them to go back?" she asked me.

How could I answer? I had a feeling I knew but didn't want to scare the poor girl.

"They might be getting ready to rotate the guards," I offered, "and they might be the replacements."

She seemed satisfied with my answer.

"Come on, we're almost to the capital," I encouraged her, not so subtle about the change of subject.

You always got strange looks whenever you fed the neighborhood ravens. “I give them food, they give me company,” you’d say. One day, a raven excitedly comes up to you and whispers, “A neighbor plots against you, my lord.”

We were at the base of a stone tree made by men. The tree had stiff branches all the way at the top. But what held the attention of the man beside me was a stone in the tree. There were markings but I couldn't understand them.

"What do they say?" I asked before I reached out.

He took my hand as gentle as he could.

"It says, 'Bitter are the wars between brothers.' It is a proverb from ages past."

"But why is it here?" There was an unspeakable pain in his eyes. Why was he hurt? Was it because of the proverb?

"The king put this here as a reminder of what happened, I imagine," he answered, leading me away after taking one last good look at the stone.

I think it's so adorable that early humans took wild gourds - a tiny fruit that hollows out as it dries, making it float - and decided to make something out of it

they thought the tiny fruit was so good that they bred it for thousands of years, making it larger to form into bowls and cups, and different shapes to become bottles and spoons

and musical instruments

And then, people took the hollow gourds they farmed, and they turned them into houses for birds. We adapted them into the perfect houses for birds, and now there are specific breeds of birdhouse gourd just for making into birdhouses

And humans dedicated gardening space and time and thousands of years of breeding to make the gourds so absolutely perfect for birds, that there is a species of bird that lives almost exclusively in them

"No! You let him go, Drosera!" I commanded the larger than usual plant. It was taller than the highwayman and rivaling some trees in height.

"Do you know just how long I've been starving?" The Drosera nymph demanded. "Then, along comes something that I can finally eat."

"You can't eat him! Let him go!" I repeated my demand. My throat hurt like it was roughly rubbed against an oak tree's bark.

"Am I supposed to feel tingley?" the highwayman asked as the Drosera's tentacle wrapped itself tighter around him.

"How much food do you have on you?" I asked my highwayman. How could I let him die when we've gone so far already? But I also didn't know how much food he had stored away. If it isn't a decent amount, then he might starve later.

"Enough to feed this thing," he replied in a vague way. There were seedlings of worry but other than that he was sure in his choice.

"But-"

"Dump the contents out of the side that is furthest from me," he instructed while he gestured to his bag.

As I did what he ordered, I wanted to believe that there was another way. But we hadn't seen any animals since we entered the bog.

"Let him go and I'll give you three pieces," I bartered, moving the three largest pieces forward.

The nymph hesitated. It burned energy it needed to catch him and now I was asking it to burn more.

"How much energy are those worth?" it asked in a cautious tone.

"At least half of what you'd get out of him."

"I'm starting to feel a serious tingle right now and I don't like it," he called.

With great effort, the Drosera let my highwayman go. As I had promised, I gave it the three pieces of meat.

"I still feel a tingle. Is that normal?"

"Go to the creek we saw a few miles back and at least rinse yourself off. The acid is still trying to eat you," I instructed him.

Without a word, he left me with the nymph.

Happy Easter, everyone!

"Alright," the stranger sighed, "what's with the orange peels?"

I was laying some fragments of orange peels out to dry for black gold and others near some potted carnivorous plants that needed to be fed.

"Black gold," I said as I pointed to the ones drying on the sunlit stone. "Plant food." I pointed to the other peels that were already attracting flies.

"I thought that those plants didn't like any nutrients in their soil," he remarked as he gracefully draped himself across a fallen log in the shadow of a large maple. "And I though that you hated potting plants."

"They don't. But they still need food, just not food like the others." I sat down not too far from him, in the shade too. "I don't like potting plants but a kid asked me for a plant that wasn't like any others."

"So, obviously, you chose..." he propped himself up, "what is that, anyway?"

"Dionaea. A fly trap." I cast my gaze back to the potted plant that just caught a decent size fly. "I had to do a lot of trading to get a hold of that plant."

"If it was such a hassle to get, why did you?"

"The kid was curious about the world outside our boarders." I looked him dead in the eyes and told him, "Tell me how I could have said 'no'." I settled in a position similar to his. "When I see the kid again, I plan on giving it to him as a gift."

After I said that, he settled back down on his log, lost in thought.

The tall sprawling; towering bookcases of the library never made me feel confined, trapped like it did with others.

I selected some children's stories, some I'd promised to churches and orphanages while others were meant to be a surprise to the children.

After I got the books I needed and headed outside, I was blinded for a moment before my vision cleared. It was around midday and I knew that I was moving a bit more sluggish than I would've liked.

I shrugged those thoughts aside and made my way to keep the promises I made.

The gentle king was surrounded by many children, as if he himself was one.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hold in my tears.

Why was it that I couldn't have that? Why did I have to be feared?

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I was getting emotional over a picture used to tell tales to children.

Through foggy eyes, I looked back at the kind; fabled king. Why couldn't he be real?

"Hey, pretty girl," I murmured to the Púca I adopted when she was a small filly.

She grunted a quiet greeting before she came up to me. She grabbed a bit of the fabric on my shoulder and gave it a gentle tug.

"How long has it been since I last saw you?"

She whinnied but let go of my shoulder.

"Since yesterday?" I gave a fake frustrated sigh, "That's too long!" I hugged her around her neck. Her fur was coarser than that of other horses and ponies I've met but I wouldn't change anything about her. The other ones are nice but they aren't her.

She nudged me enough to take a small step back, reminding me why I originally came down to visit her.

"Do you want a snack?" I asked her. "Snack?"

She nuzzled me a bit harder.

"Which hand is the snack in?" She was always a smart girl.

She stood there for a moment before nudging my right shoulder. I rolled the apple to my right hand and held it out to her.

"Smart girl," I murmured as she ate the apple. I rubbed her ears just the way she likes it. "I'm going to talk to my big, fat, mean brother to see if I can't bring you into the court so I can give you all the love and rubs you want." I couldn't stop a soft chuckle. "He isn't big, fat, or mean."

The Púca I've known since she was a filly nickered in agreement. She's met my brother and likes him well enough but still doesn't like how he keeps her from me.

"You be nice to him the next time you see him, okay?" I murmured against her forehead.